


Big Brother

by jossyrose



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jossyrose/pseuds/jossyrose
Summary: A series of one-shots depicting the countries' relationships with their older and younger siblings. Mostly fluff with some hurt/comfort.
Kudos: 15





	1. Bad Dream (America and Canada)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canada wasn't the brave twin, but he didn't have to be.

The night was comfortably warm, the summer heat refreshing after a particularly chilly spring. Fireflies glowed like stars on Earth and the chorus of crickets and cicadas lulled the neighborhood children into a soft, undisturbed slumber.  
In his room, Britain readied himself for bed and turned out the light, peaceful in the knowledge that two sweet, blonde twins were dreaming deeply in their own beds. This was not, however, true for one of the children, sitting upright with wide, violet eyes in his night-darkened room. The child huddled into himself, having been awakened by a dream that had been anything but pleasant.  
Outside, the wind was eerie, and the house’s settling creaked and groaned. Knowing that his older brother was awake, and was able to keep away any intruders, as well as seeing the soft, glowing light from his open bedroom door, had been a source of comfort. Until that light was consumed by darkness and the boy was left alone in the cover of shadow. He whimpered faintly, stock still with frozen fear until he couldn’t take staring into the blank abyss any longer and jolted out of the warmth of his bed. Around his shoulders, he still held his thin blanket close: a barrier against the monsters that surely wanted him as their next snack. In his arms, a plush white bear was crushed against his heaving chest.  
The little boy crept to his door and peered down the hall towards Britain’s room. He took a cautious step forward before jerking back. Murky black engulfed the quiet hallway. It probably housed a sinister entity ready to snatch the boy up. The shadows appeared to dart to and fro in the scarce light of the moon sweeping across the walls. He squeaked and stumbled back into the relative safety of his room, his little chest heaving with exertion.  
Shifting around from one foot to the other, the boy poked his head out again.

America’s pink lips were upturned into a small smile while he slept. He was a fearsome pirate sailing the (…how many seas were there again?) like his older brother. His fantasy was extinguished when he felt the persistent nudging against his shoulder. With an irritable moan, America’s bright eyes met the violet ones of his twin.  
“Mrgh…wha’r’ ya doin’, Can’da?” he turned and planted his face back into his soft pillow.  
“Scared,” Canada mumbled into his stuffed toy.  
“Hm?” America sat up, protectiveness lacing his blue eyes, “What’s wrong?”  
Canada gnawed at his lip, gently, and whined softly, “I had a…bad dream…”  
He immediately plunged his face into his bear, face flushing pink. His head lifted only when his brother grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, pushing him onto the bed, as well. America grinned encouragingly at him and drew his twin into a bone-crushing hug. Canada’s startled yip emitted a loud laugh from the elder twin and the timid boy was sure their older brother would awaken at the noise.  
“It’s okay, bro. It was just a dream.” When America released his brother, he saw the still unsure expression on his face, and his own smile wavered, but did not disappear. With a sigh that held no malice or frustration, he asked, “Do ya wanna sleep here tonight?”  
The younger blonde nodded with no hesitation, long, sweat-soaked hair bouncing. America’s smile widened again and he scooched closer to the wall, laying down and falling asleep instantaneously. Canada wasn’t as lucky. He hesitantly laid down and hugged his knees to his chest, cuddling into his stuffed animal. His eyes remained open, studying the shadows of his brother’s room, even as he heard the other boy’s soft breathing next to him. He turned his head slightly when he heard subtle shifting and felt two arms wrap around him in an unconscious hug. Even in his slumber, his brother would always protect him. Canada smiled softly into the fur of his bear and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of his twin to lull him to sleep.

As always, England awoke early the next morning, stretching his tired limbs and huffing a yawn. He placed his feet into his slippers and drew back the curtains in his room, lighting the space with the morning sun. The door creaked as it was open and he shuffled along the hallway to wake his boys. Canada’s room was closest, but England was given pause when he saw the room abandoned. The man suppressed his sigh. It was not the first time he had found the boy’s room in this state.  
He took a calming breath, already feeling a headache coming on. If America was out of bed as well, there was a good chance the children were up to no good. He understood that they were young and full of energy, but he wished they would allow him just a bit more peace of mind in the early hours of the day.  
The knob turned and the door pressed open. England paused. Both boys were curled up together in America’s bed. Dried tears glinted off Canada’s pink cheeks, but despite this, his lips were pressed into a contented smile. The older child, also sleeping, held his brother in a close embrace. His expression almost appeared serious and defensive, adorable on his small, chubby features.  
England closed the door nearly silently and turned, heading toward the kitchen to make some tea and see to his morning meal. He would allow the children to sleep for just a little while longer.


	2. When He Cried (Denmark and Iceland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norway was gone. Denmark was left alone to rule over their baby brother, Iceland, but Iceland has withdrawn and refused his brother's comfort. All Denmark wanted, was for things to be normal again.

When Iceland cried, it was always for Norway, and it broke Denmark’s heart. When Denmark ruled over Iceland, the child cried every night.

Every night, Denmark would awaken to the sound of the boy’s wailing and rush into Iceland’s room to try and comfort the kid. Every night, he was refused, and the child would continue to bawl.

Each night, Denmark knew he would be turned away, but each night, he still shot out of his own bed to make sure the boy, his little brother, was okay. Or, at least, as okay as the child could be. Even if the child didn’t want him, he wouldn’t allow the boy to be hurt or unaware that his older brother was there if he needed him.

The night was dark, but it was peaceful. Denmark wasn’t quite asleep yet, but his bed was soothing his aching muscles and the soft wind outside was a soft invitation to sleep. Like a lullaby that his land formed around him.

“Denmark! Store bror!”

His heart stopped; he swore it did as he leapt out of bed. Something had to be wrong. Iceland never called for Denmark by name, not since Norway left. The man swallowed his panic when he arrived at his little brother’s room. He couldn’t let the boy see his fear, it would do nothing to sooth the child. The door was slightly open, at Iceland’s continued insistence, but Denmark pushed it open further to find a light-haired little boy sitting up in bed. His legs were pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees. A reddened face, stained with mucus and tears, looked up pitifully at the tall nation, and Denmark wondered if this was worse than not being wanted.

The man hesitated for only a moment before zipping forward, sitting on the bed and engulfing the little child in his arms.

“Lillebror, what is being the matter, Island?” His voice was unusually soft and gentle for such a boisterous man.

He was surprised when his brother leaned into the hug for the first time in a long time. The Dane shifted them both and pulled Iceland into his lap so that he could cradle him to his chest.

“What is wrong?” he repeated.

The child wiggled, but did not reject the comfort. He plunged his fists into the soft fabric of the man’s nightshirt. His cries were quieter, more controlled, and not the hysterical screech that had drawn his brother out of slumber.

“I-I-I-“ the boy hiccupped.

Denmark shushed him, gently. “Calm down, Island. Breathe.”

“I wa-want N’rway!” the boy admitted, voice rising again.

Denmark felt his heart clench, but he refused to show his envy to this sweet boy. His ears perked up when he heard the child mumble something into his chest. He tilted the boy’s head away from him, just slightly.

“What did you say, Island?”

“I had a bad dream,” his voice was still wet with tears, but his cries had died down to soft sniffles and occasional hitches. His face showed nothing but pure concern, jutted lip trembling, eyebrows knitted upward and wrinkling his forehead in a way that was unfitting of such youth. “Y-you…” the boy trailed off and dug his face back into his brother’s shirt. “Was about you an’ Norway. I want you both.”

Denmark could feel the wet spot on his shirt growing again and quickly rocked the boy back and forth, panicking only slightly. Norway had always been better at this.

“Hey, hey,” he reassured, “It’s okay. Norge is fine. He is alright.” The man pulled away just slightly and grinned as best as he could, “And I am good, too!”

Despite his fears, Iceland was able to crack a small smile as his brother laughed shortly. Denmark faltered slightly, thinking about what Norway would do when their brother had a nightmare.

“Do you, uh, want to sleep with me tonight?” he offered weakly.

Iceland nodded as he was shifted up in his brother’s arms, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. Denmark’s smile was thin, but sincere. He stood, rubbing the little one’s back as he walked back to his bedroom and lay them both down in his bed. Iceland’s eyes were nearly closed, his mind already drifting off into sleep, but he instinctually cuddled into the adult nation, all the same. The gentle fingers brushing his bangs away from his forehead was soothing and the child felt safe. His brother was strong and fearsome, as fun and kind as he was.

“Goodnight, little Icey.”

The words barely registered in Iceland’s ears, but he had the presence of mind to whisper, “Goo’ nigh’ big brot’er,” before being fully released into unconsciousness.


End file.
